


ACoMaF Retold - Chapter 43 ~ 44

by kremlin



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, MAAS Sarah J. - Works
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 14:54:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12961824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kremlin/pseuds/kremlin
Summary: The things I love have a tendency to be taken from me. He’d admitted that to me Under the Mountain. But his words were kindling to my temper, to whatever pit of fear was yawning open inside of me.“And what about my story?” I hissed. “What about my reward? What about what I want?”“What is it that you want, Feyre?”I had no answer. I didn’t know. Not anymore.“What is it that you want, Feyre?”I stayed silent.His laugh was bitter, soft. “I thought so. Perhaps you should take some time to figure that out one of these days.”(Maas, Sarah J. A Court of Mist and Fury (A Court of Thorns and Roses) (S.422). Bloomsbury Publishing.)What if Feyre hadn't stayed silent that time on the mountain, with their emotions raw and churning and bleeding? Chapter 43 and 44 of ACoMaF retold





	1. Chapter 43 ~ Retold

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:  
> All characters (and most of the text) belong to Sarah J. Maas! 
> 
> Hello lovelies,  
> I have been sick all week, so I had lots of time to endulge in fandom and my fantasies, write several new chapters of "to burn like tinder" and dig around in the chaos that is my document folder. And there I found this!
> 
> This is one of the very first things I ever (re)wrote. When I read chapter 43 of ACoMaF, I wondered, "what if Feyre actually told Rhys she wanted him?" (cause we all know she did!) So I went ahead and rewrote some, but only a little bit, so the story could still develope as Queen Maas intended it to *cough* inn *cough* cabin *cough*.  
> The text is mostly taken directly from Chapter 43 and 44 of her novel "A Court of Mist and Fury", only altered in some places to fit a slightly different narrative. Can you make out where?
> 
> Come join me on Tumblr: howtotameyourillyrian

 “I will kill anyone who harms you,” Rhys snarled. “I will kill them, and take a damn long time doing it.” He panted. “Go ahead. Hate me—despise me for it.”

“You are my friend,” I said, and my voice broke on the word. I hated the tears that slipped down my face. I didn’t even know why I was crying. Perhaps for the fact that it had felt real on that throne with him, even for a moment, and … and it likely hadn’t been. Not for him. “You’re my friend—and I understand that you’re High Lord. I understand that you will defend your true court, and punish threats against it. But I can’t … I don’t want you to stop telling me things, inviting me to do things, because of the threats against me.” Darkness rippled, and wings tore from his back.

“I am not him,” Rhys breathed. “I will never be him, act like him. He locked you up and let you wither, and die.”

“He tried—”

“Stop comparing. Stop comparing me to him.” The words cut me short. I blinked.

“You think I don’t know how stories get written—how this story will be written?” Rhys put his hands on his chest, his face more open, more anguished than I’d seen it. “I am the dark lord, who stole away the bride of spring. I am a demon, and a nightmare, and I will meet a bad end. He is the golden prince—the hero who will get to keep you as his reward for not dying of stupidity and arrogance.”

 _The things I love have a tendency to be taken from me._ He’d admitted that to me Under the Mountain. And maybe I was one of them. One of the things he loved. And I understood. As much as I was afraid how him being disgusted by my touch, by how my body had reacted to him, he may be afraid of the very same thing.

But his words were kindling to my temper, to whatever pit of fear was yawning open inside of me. “And what about my story?” I hissed. “What about my reward? What about what I want?”

“What is it that you want, Feyre?”

I could not answer. I couldn’t admit what I had just come to realize. But seeing him so unhinged, driven by all this dark emotions. That he thought, he was undesirable, that he was not worthy of being loved −

“What is it that you want, Feyre?” he repeated.

“You.”

Rhys went utterly and perfectly still. I took a deep breath and stepped closer to him.

“I want you,” I breathed, taking another step, now close enough to touch him if I dared. He still didn’t move, but through the bond, I could feel his emotions churning inside of him. I gasped at their intensity: fury and hate still raging, but also feral hunger and desire, confusion, doubt, fear and − disbelief. My heart broke for him. Slowly, I raised a hand and gently cupped his cheek.

“Rhys” I whispered and caressed his cheekbone with my thumb, while at the same time brushing my talons softly against his mental shields. He opened a sliver in his walls, allowing me in. _Rhys,_ I murmured into his mind. He blinked.

“What?” He stared at me, wide-eyed.

“It is you that I want, Rhys”, I repeated, my voice more determined this time.  He sucked in a shuddering breath, his hands coming up to cup my face.

“Feyre” he whispered hoarsely, wiping away at the remnants of my tears and searching my face intently. Silver lined his eyes. My hand still cupping his one cheek, I pulled his face towards mine and placed a soft kiss on the other cheek. His breath caught and his eyes shuttered close.

“Feyre, I − “

Rhys voice broke off and he pulled me into a tight embrace, burying his face against my neck. My body went pliant and I pressed it flush against his, one hand plunging into the fine locks at the nape of his neck, the other gripping at his waist to pull him impossibly closer. We stood like that for a while. I didn’t dare move, except for applying soothing strokes along his back. My heart was hammering in my chest and I was sure Rhys could feel it where his face was pressed against the pulse at my neck. His own heart was still beating frantically, but he slowly started to relax into my arms, his fury seeping out of him with every brush of my hand.

“I want you, too.” Rhys finally said, when he had gathered himself enough to speak. “I always have. Probably from the first moment I have laid eyes on you at Calanmai.”

Surprise shot through me like lighting. “But I was – “

“Human then, yes. So very frail, yet fiery. So very beautiful.” He nuzzled my neck with his nose and the breath caught in my throat, desire pooling low in my belly. Rhys arms tightened around me.

“But, Under the Mountain, you never – “

“Later. Let’s talk later,” he whispered hoarsely.

Rhys pressed his lips softly on the spot where my neck and shoulder met. A moan escaped my lips, the ache in my belly growing and every thought flew from my head. Rhys let out an appreciative growl and started sucking gently on the same spot. I threw my head back to give him better access. Taking up my invitation, he started placing sloppy, open mouthed kisses on my skin, working his way up to my jaw. Desire racked my body. For a moment, I wished we were back at the throne room, if only so I could sit in his lap and have him take care of the throbbing ache between my legs. Instead I clenched my thighs together and gripped his hair tighter, urging him to continue his ministrations to my neck. He happily obliged.

“Rhys” I whimpered when he softly grazed his teeth over my flesh, alternating between sucking, licking and kissing every inch of skin within his reach. His lips and breath felt hot against my neck, but the moment his mouth moved away, the cold air bit at the wet trail Rhys had left in the wake of his worship. _Cold_ air.

Realization dragged me from my lusty haze. We were in the middle of the mountains, in the dead of night, no less. I had been so preoccupied with Rhys, with how his lips felt on my skin, that this simple fact had completely slipped my mind. Despite Rhys’ warmth, I was freezing in the scraps that were my dress. Rhys, sensing the shift in my mood, pulled away slightly. His eyes were blazing, his lips slightly parted and glistening moistly. He looked irresistible. I wanted nothing more than to taste them, to taste him. I swallowed.

“I’m cold. Can we move somewhere warmer?”

Rhys head whipped around, realization dawning on his face. It seemed I was not the only one who had forgotten about our current location.

“Right.” He raked a hand through his hair. “The others are probably waiting anyways.”

Yet neither of us felt any inclination to move or return just yet. Seeing me shiver in the cold, Rhys flicked his wrist and procured a coat out of that pocket realm, draping it around my shoulders. I still couldn’t stop staring at his lips, debating whether I should just kiss him or not. Only when he tucked a wayward strand of hair behind my ear and brushed his knuckles over my cheek did I tear my eyes away from them and looked at him from under my lashes. The heat in his gaze and the sensual promise it held made me blush deeply.

“Although, they’ll probably demand answers the moment we arrive at the doorstep”, Rhys remarked.

 _Cauldron._ I had forgotten about that, too. I scowled and Rhys chuckled at my obvious disappointment.

“Don’t worry, Feyre darling. We’ll have our – talk.”

He winked at me and put on his usual smirk. That only made me scowl harder and slap at his chest, but inwardly I was relieved that he was back to his somewhat usual behavior. He only chuckled again and caught my hand, placing it against his chest, right over his still pounding heart.

“Hold on tight”, he whispered and brushed his lips over my temple. Before I could say anything, he winnowed us away.

͠

Cassian, Azriel, and Mor were indeed waiting at the town house. I bid them good night while they ambushed Rhysand for answers about what Keir had said to provoke him. I was still in my dress—which felt vulgar in the light of Velaris—but found myself heading into the garden, as if the moonlight and chill might cleanse my mind. Though, if I was being honest … I was waiting for him, hoping we could continue our − talk.

Minutes passed, the night still cool enough to remind me that spring had not fully dawned, and I huddled deeper into the cloak Rhys had given me as the moon drifted. I listened to the fountain, and the city music … he didn’t come.

I wasn’t sure what I’d even tell him. I knew he and Tamlin were different. Knew that Rhysand’s protective anger tonight had been justified, that I would have had a similar reaction. I’d been bloodthirsty at the barest details of Mor’s suffering, had wanted to punish them for it. And I had been jealous of Cresseida. I had been so profoundly unhappy on that barge, because I’d wanted to be the one he smiled at like that. And I knew it was wrong, but … I did not think Rhys would call me a whore if I wanted it—wanted … him. No matter how soon it was after Tamlin. Neither would his friends. Not when they had been called the same and worse. And learned to live—and love—beyond it. Despite it.

So maybe it was time to tell Rhys that. And it’d be hard, and I was scared and might be difficult to deal with, but … I was willing to try—with him. To try to … be something. Together. Whether it was purely sex, or more, or something between or beyond them, I didn’t know. We’d find out. I was healed—or healing—enough to want to try. And now I knew he was willing to try, too. Because he hadn’t walked away when I voiced what I wanted: him. Not the High Lord, not the most powerful male in Prythian’s history. Just … him. The person who had sent music into that cell; who had picked up that knife in Amarantha’s throne room to fight for me when no one else dared, and who had kept fighting for me every day since, refusing to let me crumble and disappear into nothing. So I waited for him in the chilled, moonlit garden.

Just when I was about to give up and return to my room, two hands snaked around my middle and pulled me against a broad chest. I panicked for a moment, but then his familiar scent of citrus and jasmine washed over me. I instantly relaxed and tilted my head back, so it rested against his shoulder.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, darling.” Something in his voice was off.

I turned in his arms and searched his face. He wasn’t smiling. My spine locked. “What is it?” What if he already regretted this… this thing between us.

Rhys’ face softened.  _Never. Don’t ever think that,_ he spoke softly into my mind and ran a hand soothingly down my back.

 _What is it?_ I thought back, stepping out of his arms. His face grew thoughtful again and he turned his gaze away back to the house, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Azriel might have found some clues regarding the attack earlier today, so we need to set out to investigate. But it doesn’t feel right to leave matters between us…” he threw me a quick sideways glance, “unresolved.”

“How long will you be away?”

“I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It might take a few hours or a few days.”

There were so many things left unsaid between us, but eradicating the threat within his own lands would always take top priority. This was the responsibility that came with being High Lord. And with war looming over our heads, he couldn’t put his personal affairs first. Not, when the war had already come to his court. And I wouldn’t be so selfish to demand it of him. So I took his hand in mine and made him look at me.

“Go,” I simply told him. “And come back in one piece. Both of you.”

He smoothed my hair away from my face with his free hand and we locked gazes. I could see how torn he was between leaving me behind and taking care of the threat, and sorting out what was between us now, where our relationship stood. I could have probably asked him to take me along, to have me help, but I would have been more of a distraction than a help. And maybe some distance would help me clarify my own thoughts on what it was that I wanted from him – with him.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can”, he promised and leaned in to place a soft kiss on my brow. He gave me one last lingering look and then, with a mighty flap of his wings that suddenly materialized behind his back, he was off.

͠

The next day, Rhys wasn’t at breakfast. Or lunch. He wasn’t in the town house at all.

I hadn’t slept well last night, preoccupied with my thoughts about him and me, what to tell him the next time we saw each other. To blow of some steam, I stalked into the streets of Velaris, barely remarking that the day was balmy, sunny, that the very air now seemed laced with citrus and wildflowers and new grass. Now that we had the orb, he’d no doubt be in touch with the queens. Who would no doubt waste our time, just to remind us they were important; that they, too, had power. Part of me wished Rhys could crush their bones the way he’d done with Keir’s the night before.

I headed for Amren’s apartment across the river, needing the walk to clear my head. Winter had indeed yielded to spring. By the time I was halfway there, my overcoat was slung over my arm, and my body was slick with sweat beneath my heavy cream sweater. I found Amren the same way I’d seen her the last time: hunched over the Book, papers strewn around her. I set the blood on the counter.

She said without looking up, “Ah. The reason why Rhys bit my head off this morning.”

I leaned against the counter, frowning. “He has come by?”

“On his way to hunt whoever attacked you yesterday.”

If they had ash arrows in their arsenal … I tried to soothe the worry that bit deep.

“Do you think it was the Summer Court?” The blood ruby still sat on the floor, still used as a paperweight against the river breeze blowing in from the open windows. Varian’s necklace was now beside her bed. As if she fell asleep looking at it.

“Maybe,” Amren said, dragging a finger along a line of text. She must be truly absorbed to not even bother with the blood. I debated leaving her to it. But she went on, “Regardless, it seems that our enemies have a track on Rhys’s magic. Which means they’re able to find him when he winnows anywhere or if he uses his powers.” She at last looked up. “You lot are leaving Velaris in two days. Rhys wants you stationed at one of the Illyrian war-camps—where you’ll fly down to the human lands once the queens send word.”

“Why not today?”

Amren said, “Because Starfall is tomorrow night—the first we’ve had together in fifty years. Rhys is expected to be here, amongst his people.”

“What’s Starfall?” Amren’s eyes twinkled.

“Outside of these borders, the rest of the world celebrates tomorrow as Nynsar—the Day of Seeds and Flowers.” I almost flinched at that. I hadn’t realized just how much time had passed since I’d come here. “But Starfall,” Amren said, “only at the Night Court can you witness it—only within this territory is Starfall celebrated in lieu of the Nynsar revelry. The rest, and the why of it, you’ll find out. It’s better left as a surprise.” Well, that explained why people had seemed to already be preparing for a celebration of sorts: High Fae and faeries hustling home with arms full of vibrant wildflower bouquets and streamers and food. The streets were being swept and washed, storefronts patched up with quick, skilled hands.

I asked, “Will we come back here once we leave?”

She returned to the Book. “Not for a while.”

Something in my chest started sinking. To an immortal, awhile must be … a long, long time. I took that as an invitation to leave, and headed for the door in the back of the loft.

But Amren said, “When Rhys came back, after Amarantha, he was a ghost. He pretended he wasn’t, but he was. You made him come alive again.” Words stalled, and I couldn’t help but to think, hope, that maybe the way we felt towards each other might have very well been the thing that helped us heal after Under the Mountain. And that admitting to it and embracing those feelings might do us even more good.

But instead I said, “He is lucky to have all of you.”

“No,” she said softly—more gently than I’d ever heard. “We are lucky to have him, Feyre.” I turned from the door. “I have known many High Lords,” Amren continued, studying her paper. “Cruel ones, cunning ones, weak ones, powerful ones. But never one that dreamed. Not as he does.”

“Dreams of what?” I breathed.

“Of peace. Of freedom. Of a world united, a world thriving. Of something better—for all of us.”

“He thinks he’ll be remembered as the villain in the story.”

She snorted.

“But I forgot to tell him,” I said quietly, opening the door, “that the villain is usually the person who locks up the maiden and throws away the key.”

“Oh?”

I shrugged. “He was the one who let me out.”

͠

Talking with Amren had somewhat opened my eyes. I couldn’t deny that I had feelings for Rhys, feelings that went deeper than lust and sexual drive. And the moment I admitted this to myself, the waiting became agony. I bothered Mor and Cass for news about the hunt, to little avail. I’d even written him a note on the last piece of paper we’d used. _As soon as you return, we need to talk!!!_  No response. The letter didn’t even vanish. I tried again after breakfast the next day—the morning of Starfall. _Any update on the hunt? Will you be back for tonight?_

Again, no reply.

My impatience and—and whatever else it was—started to shift. I could barely keep from shredding the paper as I wrote my third one after lunch.

_I know you are back! I’ve seen Azriel around. Are you avoiding me? You’re a hateful coward!_

I was climbing out of the bath, the city abuzz with preparations for the festivities at sundown, when I looked at the desk where I’d left the letter. And watched it vanish. Nuala and Cerridwen arrived to help me dress, and I tried not to stare at the desk as I waited—waited and waited for the response. It didn’t come.


	2. Chapter 44 ~ Retold

But despite the letter, despite the unresolved issues between us, as I gaped at the mirror an hour later, I couldn’t quite believe what stared back.

I had been so relieved these past few weeks to be sleeping at all that I’d forgotten to be grateful that I was keeping down my food. The fullness had come back to my face, my body. What should have taken weeks longer as a human had been hurried along by the miracle of my immortal blood. And the dress …

I’d never worn anything like it, and doubted I’d ever wear anything like it again.

Crafted of tiny blue gems so pale they were almost white, it clung to every curve and hollow before draping to the floor and pooling like liquid starlight. The long sleeves were tight, capped at the wrists with cuffs of pure diamond. The neckline grazed my collarbones, the modesty of it undone by how the gown hugged areas I supposed a female might enjoy showing off. My hair had been swept off my face with two combs of silver and diamond, then left to drape down my back. And I thought, as I stood alone in my bedroom, that I might have looked like a fallen star.

Rhysand was nowhere to be found when I worked up the courage to go to the rooftop garden. The beading on the dress clinked and hissed against the floors as I walked through the nearly dark house, all the lights softened or extinguished. In fact, the whole city had blown out its lights. A winged, muscled figure stood atop the roof, and my heart stumbled. But then he turned, just as the scent hit me. And something in my chest sank a bit as Cassian let out a low whistle.

“I should have let Nuala and Cerridwen dress me.” I didn’t know whether to smile or wince.

“You look rather good despite it.”

He did. He was out of his fighting clothes and armor, sporting a black tunic cut to show off that warrior’s body. His black hair had been brushed and smoothed, and even his wings looked cleaner. Cassian held his arms out. His Siphons remained—a metal, fingerless gauntlet that stretched beneath the tailored sleeves of his jacket.

“Ready?”

He’d kept me company the past two days, training me each morning. While he’d shown me more particulars on how to use an Illyrian blade—mostly how to disembowel someone with it—we’d chatted about everything: our equally miserable lives as children, hunting, food … Everything, that is, except for the subject of Rhysand. Cassian had mentioned only earlier today that Rhys had come back late last night and was up at the House of Wind, and I supposed my expression had told him enough about not wanting to hear anything else.

He grinned at me now. “With all those gems and beads, you might be too heavy to carry. I hope you’ve been practicing your winnowing in case I drop you.”

“Funny.”

I allowed him to scoop me into his arms before we shot into the sky. Winnowing might still evade me, but I wished I had wings, I realized. Great, powerful wings so I might fly as they did; so I might see the world and all it had to offer. Below us, every lingering light winked out. There was no moon; no music flitted through the streets. Silence—as if waiting for something. Cassian soared through the quiet dark to where the House of Wind loomed. I could make out crowds gathered on the many balconies and patios only from the faint gleam of starlight on their hair, then the clink of their glasses and low chatter as we neared.

Cassian set me down on the crowded patio off the dining room, only a few revelers bothering to look at us. Dim bowls of faelight inside the House illuminated spreads of food and endless rows of green bottles of sparkling wine atop the tables. Cassian was gone and returned before I missed him, pressing a glass of the latter into my hand.

No sign of Rhysand. He was avoiding me, wasn’t he? He said, he wouldn’t regret admitting to wanting me, but his behavior certainly was proof he did. Maybe he’d avoid me the entire party.

Someone called Cassian’s name from down the patio, and he clapped me on the shoulder before striding off. A tall male, his face in shadow, clasped forearms with Cassian, his white teeth gleaming in the darkness. Azriel stood with the stranger already, his wings tucked in tight to keep revelers from knocking into them.

He, Cassian, and Mor had all been quiet today—understandably so. I scanned for signs of my other— Friends. The word sounded in my head. Was that what they were? Amren was nowhere in sight, but I spotted a golden head at the same moment she spied me, and Mor breezed to my side. She wore a gown of pure white, little more than a slip of silk that showed off her generous curves.

Indeed, a glance over her shoulder revealed Azriel staring blatantly at the back view of it, Cassian and the stranger already too deep in conversation to notice what had drawn the spymaster’s attention. For a moment, the ravenous hunger on Azriel’s face made my stomach tighten. I remembered feeling like that just two nights ago. Remembered how it had felt to yield to it. How I’d come close to doing… things the other night.

Mor said, “It won’t be long now.”

“Until what?” No one had told me what to expect, as they hadn’t wanted to ruin the surprise of Starfall. “Until the fun.” I surveyed the party around us—

“This isn’t the fun?”

Mor lifted an eyebrow. “None of us really care about this part. Once it starts, you’ll see.” She took a sip of her sparkling wine.

“That’s some dress. You’re lucky Amren is hiding in her little attic, or she’d probably steal it right off you. The vain drake.”

“She won’t take time off from decoding?”

“Yes, and no. Something about Starfall disturbs her, she claims. Who knows? She probably does it to be contrary.” Even as she spoke, her words were distant—her face a bit tight.

I said quietly, “Are you … ready for tomorrow?”

Tomorrow, when we’d leave Velaris to keep anyone from noticing our movements in this area. Mor, Azriel had told me tightly over breakfast that morning, would return to the Court of Nightmares. To check in on her father’s … recovery.

Probably not the best place to discuss our plans, but Mor shrugged. “I don’t have any choice but to be ready. I’ll come with you to the camp, then go my way afterward.”

“Cassian will be happy about that,” I said.

Even if Azriel was the one trying his best not to stare at her.

Mor snorted. “Maybe.” I lifted a brow.

“So you two … ?”

Another shrug.

“Once. Well, not even. I was seventeen, he wasn’t even a year older.” When everything had happened. But there was no darkness on her face as she sighed. “Cauldron, that was a long time ago. I visited Rhys for two weeks when he was training in the war-camp, and Cassian, Azriel, and I became friends. One night, Rhys and his mother had to go back to the Night Court, and Azriel went with them, so Cassian and I were left alone. And that night, one thing led to another, and … I wanted Cassian to be the one who did it. I wanted to choose.” A third shrug. I wondered if Azriel had wished to be the one she chose instead. If he’d ever admitted to it to Mor—or Rhys. If he resented that he’d been away that night, that Mor hadn’t considered him.

“Rhys came back the next morning, and when he learned what had happened … ” She laughed under her breath. “We try not to talk about the Incident. He and Cassian … I’ve never seen them fight like that. Hopefully I never will again. I know Rhys wasn’t pissed about my virginity, but rather the danger that losing it had put me in. Azriel was even angrier about it—though he let Rhys do the walloping. They knew what my family would do for debasing myself with a bastard-born lesser faerie.” She brushed a hand over her abdomen, as if she could feel that nail they’d spiked through it. “They were right.”

“So you and Cassian,” I said, wanting to move on from it, that darkness, “you were never together again after that?”

 “No,” Mor said, laughing quietly. “I was desperate, reckless that night. I’d picked him not just for his kindness, but also because I wanted my first time to be with one of the legendary Illyrian warriors. I wanted to lie with the greatest of Illyrian warriors, actually. And I’d taken one look at Cassian and known. After I got what I wanted, after … everything, I didn’t like that it caused a rift with him and Rhys, or even him and Az, so … never again.”

“And you were never with anyone after it?” Not the cold, beautiful shadowsinger who tried so hard not to watch her with longing on his face?

“I’ve had lovers,” Mor clarified, “but … I get bored. And Cassian has had them, too, so don’t get that unrequited-love, moony-woo-woo look. He just wants what he can’t have, and it’s irritated him for centuries that I walked away and never looked back.”

“Oh, it drives him insane,” Rhys said from behind me, and I jumped. But the High Lord was circling me. I crossed my arms as he paused and smirked. “You look like a woman again.”

“You really know how to compliment females, cousin,” Mor said, and patted him on the shoulder as she spotted an acquaintance and went to say hello.

I tried not to look at Rhys, who was in a black jacket, casually unbuttoned at the top so that the white shirt beneath—also unbuttoned at the neck—showed the tattoos on his chest peeking through. Tried not to look—and failed.

“Do you plan to ignore me some more?” I said coolly.

“I’m here now, aren’t I? I wouldn’t want you keep you waiting. Or call me a hateful coward again”

I opened my mouth, but felt all the wrong words start to come out. So I shut it and looked for Azriel or Cassian or anyone who might talk to me. Going up to a stranger was starting to sound appealing when Rhys said a bit hoarsely, “I wasn’t avoiding you. I just … I needed time.”

I didn’t want to have this conversation here—with so many people listening.

So I gestured to the party and said, “Will you please tell me what this … gathering is about?” Rhysand stepped up behind me, snorting as he said into my ear, “Look up.”

Indeed, as I did so, the crowd hushed.

“No speech for your guests?” I murmured. Easy—I just wanted it to be easy between us again. “Tonight’s not about me, though my presence is appreciated and noted,” he said. “Tonight’s about that.”

As he pointed …

A star vaulted across the sky, brighter and closer than any I’d seen before. The crowd and city below cheered, raising their glasses as it passed right overhead, and only when it had disappeared over the curve of the horizon did they drink deeply.

I leaned back a step into Rhys—and quickly stepped away, out of his heat and power and scent. We’d done enough damage in a similar position at the Court of Nightmares. And afterwards.

Another star crossed the sky, twirling and twisting over itself, as if it were reveling in its own sparkling beauty. It was chased by another, and another, until a brigade of them were unleashed from the edge of the horizon, like a thousand archers had loosed them from mighty bows. The stars cascaded over us, filling the world with white and blue light. They were like living fireworks, and my breath lodged in my throat as the stars kept on falling and falling. I’d never seen anything so beautiful. And when the sky was full with them, when the stars raced and danced and flowed across the world, the music began. Wherever they were, people began dancing, swaying and twirling, some grabbing hands and spinning, spinning, spinning to the drums, the strings, the glittering harps. Not like the grinding and thrusting of the Court of Nightmares, but—joyous, peaceful dancing. For the love of sound and movement and life. I lingered with Rhysand at the edge of it, caught between watching the people dancing on the patio, hands upraised, and the stars streaming past, closer and closer until I swore I could have touched them if I’d leaned out.

And there were Mor and Azriel—and Cassian. The three of them dancing together, Mor’s head tipped back to the sky, arms up, the starlight gleaming on the pure white of her gown. Dancing as if it might be her last time, flowing between Azriel and Cassian like the three of them were one unit, one being.

I looked behind me to find Rhys watching them, his face soft. Sad.

Separated for fifty years, and reunited—only to be cleaved apart so soon to fight again for their freedom.

Rhys caught my gaze and said, “Come. There’s a better view. Quieter.” He held a hand out to me. That sorrow, that weight, lingered in his eyes. And I couldn’t bear to see it—just as I couldn’t bear to see my three friends dancing together as if it was the last time they’d ever do it.

͠

Rhys led me to a small private balcony jutting from the upper level of the House of Wind. On the patios below, the music still played, the people still danced, the stars wheeling by, close and swift. He let go as I took a seat on the balcony rail.

I immediately decided against it as I beheld the drop, and backed away a healthy step. Rhys chuckled. “If you fell, you know I’d bother to save you before you hit the ground.”

“But not until I was close to death?”

“Maybe.” I leaned a hand against the rail, peering at the stars whizzing past.

“As punishment for calling you a hateful coward?” He flinched at my words.

“I’m sorry. I knew told you I didn’t want to leave matters between us unresolved, but then you wrote that message about needing to talk,” he murmured. He watched the stars for a moment before he continued.

“You have every right to call me a coward. I stayed away because after your message, I was afraid about what you wanted to tell me. I am still afraid.”

We were silent again. I didn’t know what to say. He thought I was going to reject him. Struggling to find the right words, I studied the stars.

“They’re not—they’re not stars at all.”

“No.”

Rhys came up beside me at the rail. “Our ancestors thought they were, but … They’re just spirits, on a yearly migration to somewhere. Why they pick this day to appear here, no one knows.”

I felt his eyes upon me, and tore my gaze from the shooting stars. Light and shadow passed over his face. The cheers and music of the city far, far below were barely audible over the crowd gathered at the House.

“There must be hundreds of them,” I managed to say, dragging my stare back to the stars whizzing past.

“Thousands,” he said. “They’ll keep coming until dawn. Or, I hope they will. There were less and less of them the last time I witnessed Starfall.” Before Amarantha had locked him away.

“What’s happening to them?” I looked in time to see him shrug. Something twanged in my chest.

“I wish I knew. But they keep coming back despite it.”

“Why?”

“Why does anything cling to something? Maybe they love wherever they’re going so much that it’s worth it. Maybe they’ll keep coming back, until there’s only one star left. Maybe that one star will make the trip forever, out of the hope that someday—if it keeps coming back often enough—another star will find it again.” I frowned at the wine in my hand.

“That’s … a very sad thought.”

“Indeed.” Rhys rested his forearms on the balcony edge, close enough for my fingers to touch if I dared. A calm, full silence enveloped us. Too many words—I still had too many words in me. And none of them were right.

I didn’t know how much time passed, but it must have been a while, because when he spoke again, I jolted.

“Every year that I was Under the Mountain and Starfall came around, Amarantha made sure that I … serviced her. The entire night. Starfall is no secret, even to outsiders—even the Court of Nightmares crawls out of the Hewn City to look up at the sky. So she knew … She knew what it meant to me.”

I stopped hearing the celebrations around us. Images of Amarantha and him surged in my imagination, and I felt gut twist.

“I’m sorry.” It was all I could offer.

“I got through it by reminding myself that my friends were safe; that Velaris was safe. Nothing else mattered, so long as I had that. She could use my body however she wanted. I didn’t care.”

“So why aren’t you down there with them?” I asked, even as I tucked the horror of what had been done to him into my heart.

“They don’t know—what she did to me on Starfall. I don’t want it to ruin their night.”

“I don’t think it would. They’d be happy if you let them shoulder the burden.”

“The same way you rely on others to help with your own troubles?” My temper flared, but I reigned it it as we stared at each other, close enough to share breath. And maybe all those words bottled up in me … Maybe I didn’t need them right now.

My fingers grazed his cheekbone and he stilled, patient, as if waiting to see what else I might do. I continued stroking a finger down his cheek, along his jaw, tracing his lips. And as I turned to him more fully and leaned in towards him, Rhys inhaling sharply, something blinding and tinkling slammed into my face.

I reeled back, crying out as I bent over, shielding my face against the light that I could still see against my shut eyes. Rhys let out a startled laugh. A laugh. And when I realized that my eyes hadn’t been singed out of their sockets, I whirled on him.

“I could have been blinded!” I hissed, shoving him.

He took a look at my face and burst out laughing again. Real laughter, open and delighted and lovely. I wiped at my face, and when I pulled my hands down, I gaped. Pale green light—like drops of paint—glowed in flecks on my hand. Splattered star-spirit. I didn’t know if I should be horrified or amused. Or disgusted. When I went to rub it off, Rhys caught my hands.

“Don’t,” he said, still laughing. “It looks like your freckles are glowing.”

My nostrils flared, and I went to shove him again, not caring if my new strength knocked him off the balcony. He could summon wings; he could deal with it. He sidestepped me, veering toward the balcony rail, but not fast enough to avoid the careening star that collided with the side of his face. He leaped back with a curse.

I laughed, the sound rasping out of me. Not a chuckle or snort, but a cackling laugh. And I laughed again, and again, as he lowered his hands from his eyes. The entire left side of his face had been hit. Like heavenly war paint, that’s what it looked like. I could see why he didn’t want me to wipe mine away.

Rhys was examining his hands, covered in the dust, and I stepped toward him, peering at the way it glowed and glittered. He went still as death as I took one of his hands in my own and traced a star shape on the top of his palm, playing with the glimmer and shadows, until it looked like one of the stars that had hit us. His fingers tightened on mine, and I looked up.

He was smiling at me. And looked so un-High-Lord-like with the glowing dust on the side of his face that I grinned back. I hadn’t even realized what I’d done until his own smile faded, and his mouth parted slightly.

“Smile again,” he whispered.

I hadn’t smiled for him. Ever. Or laughed. Under the Mountain, I had never grinned, never chuckled. And afterward … And this male before me … my friend…  the male, whose touch I craved. For all that he had done, I had never given him either. Even when I had just … I had just painted something. On him. For him.

I’d—painted again.

So I smiled at him, broad and without restraint.

“You’re exquisite,” he breathed.

The air was too tight, too close between our bodies, between our joined hands.

But I said, “You owe me two thoughts—back from when I first came here. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Rhys rubbed his neck.

“You want to know why I didn’t come see you the moment I returned? Because I was so convinced you would tell me it was all a big mistake, that you don’t want me after all and then throw me out on my ass. I just… ” He dragged a hand through his hair, and huffed a laugh. “I figured hiding was a better alternative.”

“Who would have thought the High Lord of the Night Court could be afraid of an illiterate human?” I purred. He grinned, nudging me with an elbow.

“That’s one,” I pushed. “Tell me another thought.”

His eyes fell on my mouth. “I’m wishing I could take back that kiss Under the Mountain.”

I sometimes forgot that kiss, when he’d done it to keep Amarantha from knowing that Tamlin and I had been in the forgotten hall, tangled up together. Rhysand’s kiss had been brutal, demanding, and yet … “Why?”

His gaze settled on the hand I’d painted instead, as if it were easier to face.

“Because I didn’t make it pleasant for you, and I was jealous and pissed off, and I knew you hated me.” There. Honesty, that’s what it was. Honesty, and trust. I’d never had that with anyone. But with Rhys I could have it. I wanted to have it. And wanted to offer it to him in return.

“Do it then. Take it back,” I breathed.

Rhys looked up, meeting my gaze. And whatever was on my face—I think it might have been mirrored on his: the hunger and longing and surprise. I swallowed hard, traced another line of stardust along the inside of his powerful wrist. I didn’t think he was breathing.

“If you wish, you can take it back. And give me another one in return,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

Rhys took a shaky breath, tracing the stardust on my cheek with trembling fingers.

“Feyre.“ My name on my lips was a plea, a prayer.

Mirroring my earlier motion, he caressed first my cheek, then my jaw. When his thumb brushed my bottom lip, I closed my eyes and tilted my face upwards − a silent invitation.

“Feyre”, he murmured again, his face close enough that his warm breath washed over mine, his thumb brushing over my lips, this time the upper lip. A shiver went down my spine, but I kept my eyes closed. My blood was thrumming in my ears, drowning out all sounds but my frantic heartbeat. His hand came around to cradle my head at the nape of my neck, when I felt him pressing a feather-light kiss on the corner of my mouth. I gasped a little at the sensation, focusing all of my attention to the barely perceptible contact of his lips on my skin.

“Feyre”, he rasped a third time, lightly brushing my lips with his, as he made his way to other corner of my mouth and placed another feather-light kiss there. I almost groaned. This was torture. My free hand snaked up his chest, gripping at his tunic. I was half tempted to pull him towards me to _finally_ get his lips on mine.

“Rhys”, I whimpered and he relented at last, pressing his lips to mine. I went loose and taut all over, desire washing over me. Our lips moved against each other in unison, sweet and slow, as if we had all the time in the world. I let out little sigh of content, when he broke away, and Rhys answered with a little appreciative sound of his own, before pressing his soft lips back against mine. I felt like I was soaring. One kiss turned into many and I never wanted him to stop.

But eventually he broke away for good and I was left with only with a tingling sensation where his lips just had been. I kept my eyes closed to savor the feeling just a little longer. It had me aching for more, but there was no rush. For now, this was enough. Until we had established the current nature of our relationship, until I knew his feelings and came to terms with mine, it was enough.

“Do you—do you want to dance with me?” I whispered with my eyes still closed. He was silent for long enough that I opened my eyes to search his face. His eyes were bright—silver-lined.

“You want to dance?” he rasped, his fingers curling around mine.

I pointed with my chin toward the celebration below.

“Down there—with them.”

Where the music beckoned, where life beckoned. Where he should spend the night with his friends, and where I wanted to spend it with them, too. Even with the strangers in attendance. I did not mind stepping out of the shadows, did not mind even being in the shadows to begin with, so long as he was with me. My friend through so many dangers—who had fought for me when no one else would, even myself.

“Of course I’ll dance with you,” Rhys said, his voice still raw. “All night, if you wish.”

“Even if I step on your toes?”

“Even then.”

He leaned in, brushing his mouth against my heated cheek. I closed my eyes at the whisper of a kiss, at the hunger that ravaged me in its wake, that might ravage Prythian. And all around us, as if the world itself were indeed falling apart, stars rained down.

Bits of stardust glowed on his lips as he pulled away, as I stared up at him, breathless, while he smiled. The smile the world would likely never see, the smile he’d given up for the sake of his people, his lands. He said softly, “I am … very glad I met you, Feyre.”

I blinked away the burning in my eyes.

“Come on,” I said, tugging on his hand. “Let’s go join the dance.”


End file.
